


Count the Ways

by fyredancer



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill thinks Tom should be sweeter. Tom's kind of pissed that Bill doesn't see it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Count the Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to parallelheartz and gajastar for the lightning-fast beta work.

"I wish you'd be sweet to me," Bill says, turning from the kitchen counter with laden dog bowls in his hands. "Once in a while, I wish you'd be sweet."

Tom has himself draped half-off the opposing counter and he's leaning down to pet their German Shorthair. He gives Bill that dumb look that means he's about to say something cruel, or maybe he's only trying to puzzle through what Bill's just said.

"Seriously, Bill?"

Bill nods.

"Well, I wish I had a little brother instead of a little sister, but we all have to work with what we've got, you know?"

Bill narrows his eyes and dumps the food in front of the dogs, acquiring the interest of Tom's suddenly faithless companion. "See? This is you, being an asshole again." He goes to wash his hands in the sink because although he loves their dogs, he really does hate getting his hands anywhere near their stinky food.

"You started it," Tom counters in a loud, argumentative tone. He's winding up for a fight.

Bill flips him off and scurries for the bathroom. He's got an interview in an hour and he has to get into the car in ten, or risk being late.

Tom corners him against the wall as Bill's going for his coat and dropping a few essentials in his handbag on his way out the door.

"Take it back," he insists when Bill turns. Tom pins him by the shoulders before Bill can so much as squeak in surprise. His brows are gathered and his mouth is thinned to a cold line. "It was a dick thing to say, Bill, and you know we'll be in a bad mood all day if you don't."

Bill knows. He's already miserable and now he's pissed off, too, because Tom is, but being so upset is one reason he _can't._ "You first," Bill says frostily, because Tom knows how fucking much he hates being called a girl. It's been done to death and to have his twin throw it in his face...? When they do what they do? Well, he doesn't have to put up with it. For good measure he kicks him in the shin with his sharp new boots and as Tom winces and reels to the side, he makes his escape.

He's late to the interview by five minutes because he had to pull over, hands shaking, until the residual anger and upset faded enough to function. That puts him in even more of a foul mood so he tells the interviewer that the dog is his best friend, and jots down the woman's e-mail address so that he can mail her a few of his favorite pics that Tom has taken of him and his beloved dachshund. 

"Nice, Bill," Tom says bitterly a few days later when the proofs of that magazine arrive and Bill leaves them arrayed conspicuously on the table. It's right before they have to leave again and Tom is already weary from having to corral the dogs for transport to their parents' for a few days.

"Her love is unconditional!" Bill says immediately, and wishes he'd kept his mouth shut when Tom turns a heavy look on him.

"If we're going to fight, have it out with me," is all Tom says. "Don't just spew stuff that's going to get printed into a magazine for me to find out days later."

Bill is penitent, and stays so quiet in the car when they're on their way to the airport that Tom reaches over and touches his wrist, as though checking for a pulse.

"Come on," Tom says. "Are you still mad at me?"

Bill blinks. "I thought you were mad at me."

Tom frowns at the road ahead of them. "What you said, it bothered me," he admits after a few kilometers. He guns the car forward and Bill squeaks; slides down in his seat.

"About you being sweet," Bill says, knowing exactly the bit that's niggling at Tom like a sliver trapped under his worn-short nails.

"Yeah," Tom says, and doesn't elaborate.

Bill doesn't prod him on it. He stands by what he'd said. He does want Tom to be sweeter, sometimes. Not all the time – they're both boys, and they're still brothers, after all. But enough so that Bill can really feel it, the tug between them that pulls them together for more than sex, that lets him know Tom wants to be with him if not for always then at least for as long as they can manage.

They phone in an interview to an American magazine, Entertainment Weekly, while they're lingering over lunch between engagements. After it's over, Tom turns to him in the car on their way to the next promotional gig, which Bill has privately come to think of as pimping sessions. 

"I hate it when you tell people stuff like that," Tom says, arranging himself on the other side of the car with his collar turned up high. "That we can't live without each other." He's folding his arms across his chest, looking out the window, making himself a self-imposed island of isolation over there.

Their knees aren't touching and Bill is bereft, but he's good at not showing it.

Bill shrugs, pierced brow rising. "Well, it's true, isn't it? We agreed it's easier to tell the truth when we can."

Tom looks uncomfortable. "That's something I don't think people need to hear, though. I don't want anyone to pick at it."

"Fine," Bill says with another shrug. They talk about it all the time; what to say in interviews, what not to say, how far they can sling the bullshit before some reporter will openly call them on it. Sometimes one of them will improvise and it's usually Bill that freaks out. Now it's Tom, and over something they've basically said before.

He grins deviously, already plotting to tell the next unfortunate sucker of an interviewer quizzing them on their personal lives that he can't wait to move out with a girl, and away from Tom. It's exactly what they're panting to hear, and it's something that makes all the little fangirls absolutely certain he could mean them.

Tom sighs and doesn't look any more relieved.

Tom brings him a sandwich and a Coke after _that_ interview, the Mädchen one where he claims almost gleefully that he'll pack his bags and be out of there once he finds "the one." Tom's response to that had been instant, and surprising. Considering that he'd just gotten done telling Bill he wanted them to tone down that kind of talk.

"You didn't have to say that," Bill observes, going for one particular truth that had been nestled amidst the lies.

Tom shrugs, uncapping the Coke before handing it to Bill. "Maybe I thought you needed to hear it." His voice had been so steady, cheerful but not in a joking way when he'd said it. _Face it, Bill, we're going to spend the rest of our lives together._

He knows it pains Bill; gives him an actual, physical pain when he talks about leaving Tom, lie or no. Bill gives him a happy little smile and scoots over so that there's room on the couch for both of them.

Tom sits and tugs Bill's feet into his lap, pulling his boots off, and he begins to rub his feet. Bill's head goes back and he moans a little, because it's that good and his feet have been killing him lately, with all the walking they've been doing, especially in his new boots with their wicked heels.

It occurs to Bill that his brother is being sweet to him. It's all of these little things. What he'd said, which must have taken an effort of will for Tom to force out in public, to an interviewer no less. The Coke, the sandwich, the foot rub. Bill thinks about it for a moment and he is suddenly recalling that Tom does this all the time. He doesn't even think about it.

Tom's the one who opens bottles so Bill won't break a nail. He brings a pizza when Bill is recording a bloody difficult English track for the fifth time, and shares it while listening to Bill rant about how his tongue isn't meant to form those consonants. He's the one who gets up early when one of their dogs starts to scratch at the bedroom door to be let out. He brings his phone over if it's buzzing when Bill is in a rush to finish up his makeup, and reads his texts aloud to him or checks his voicemail.

Bill doesn't think about it because Tom just _does_ it. He doesn't make a big deal about it and he doesn't ask for thanks.

He pulls his feet out of Tom's lap abruptly, and Tom gives him a puzzled look. His brother reaches right away into his huge pocket for a little travel bottle of hand sanitizer, but Bill can ignore that; it's not a mood-killer. He knows his feet are smelly after being confined in faux-leather for five hours and Tom has certain well-defined phobias.

"What do I do for you that no one else does?" Bill demands. "Without being asked, without expecting anything in return?"

Tom's confused face segues into a perverted smirk in no time flat.

"Oh, please," Bill sighs. "You beg me for sex all the time." And it's true. Half the time Bill feels like he's too tired for it until Tom's got his hand or mouth on Bill's cock. Even then, when they're going at it Bill sometimes wishes Tom wasn't such a devotee of anal although Bill probably couldn't live without it for long, either.

Tom shrugs, his expression smoothing out into neutral. He slings an arm along the back of the couch. "I don't know; you're Bill."

"I'm always Bill," Bill says, exasperated. He wants Tom to really think about it.

"No, I mean..." Tom makes a gesture with his right hand; lets it drop into his lap. "You're _my_ Bill. You give me...yourself. The way nobody else does. Nobody else ever would." He licks at his lip, a quick nervous flutter of his tongue, and his dark eyes are pleading with Bill not to make him elaborate.

Bill lets it go, because those words are enough of a reminder. He's always thinking of Tom, even when they're not together. Little things he can bring back for Tom, a sight or a phrase or a joke he wants to share. Tom takes care of him, but Bill is sure he does the same in his own way, without thinking twice about it. The way he hasn't consciously thought about what Tom does for him.

"That's sweet," Bill says, and rearranges himself on the couch, crawling into Tom's lap. "That's definitely sweet."

Tom ducks his head and looks away. Bill has to tug his cap off to see that Tom's ears are red.

"I love you," Bill says, just to make Tom blush more.

Tom's lips curve up into the sweetest smile, the one nobody gets to see but Bill, and it lights Bill up. There's a pain in this, in what they do, but there's joy too, and there's an ever-smoldering heat at the core of him that takes only the tiniest spark for Tom to get it started. He flares up with the need to _have_ Tom; to kick his jeans off and tug Tom's down and screw himself down on his brother's cock to get them close as they can be.

Maybe that's their sweetest thing. When they get to the point where they don't need words, and the only thing they belong to is each other.

Bill slides his hand up Tom's voluminous shirt and whispers into Tom's ear, "We should fuck, now." He almost says 'make love' but there's making Tom blush, and beyond that there's making him self-conscious. He kisses Tom's jaw and moves down, tracing his favorite route along the tendons of Tom's neck.

"We have an interview tomorrow. We have to get up early," Tom says against Bill's hair, but he's already breathing hard.

"Like the prospect of only getting two hours of sleep has ever stopped us before," Bill murmurs back, tugging Tom's shirt down to nip at the skin below his collarbone. "Is the door locked?"

"Always; you know I always lock it," Tom replies. He strokes his hand up Bill's back, rubbing with a firm touch. "You know I'm careful."

Bill arches against him and slings his legs to either side of Tom's lap, peeking at him through the fringe of his over-long bangs and leaning in for a kiss. Tom doesn't disappoint. He presses his mouth to Bill's, and when Bill licks at the bolt in his lip, opens to him and chases Bill's tongue around. Tom pushes his tongue into Bill's mouth, past his teeth, and plays with his tongue stud so thoroughly that it leaves them both gasping. They clutch madly at each other, squirming for the best position, fighting each other for better leverage. They trade breath and tongue and leisurely kisses as Tom pulls Bill's shirt out of his jeans and gets his hands on the bare skin of Bill's back.

That's when the kiss gains speed, and Bill moans against his twin's tongue as he widens his legs, settling himself more firmly in Tom's lap. They press together and Tom grunts. His cock is pressing against Bill's and even through two layers of denim, they can both feel it twitch.

"Oh," Bill moans, when Tom hooks an arm around his waist.

"Get this off," Tom says, pulling at his shirt.

"Get it off me," Bill counters.

Tom snorts. "You've got a lot of jewelry...I don't want to hurt you."

Bill's lips curve up before he can even fully process the underlying consideration of that statement. Tom fronts so hard, but underneath it he's softer than marshmallow, and all for Bill. He's mad at himself for ever accusing Tom of being anything but sweet to him. He hurries with his jewelry, fumbling with clasps and dropping them until Tom's steady fingers go behind his neck to help him, then peels out of his t-shirt and rubs himself forward.

Tom's cock twitches again where it's pressed up against his and Bill moans, really liking that. "I feel you," he whispers to Tom, as his brother leans forward to dabble his tongue through Bill's nipple ring. "You got harder for me." Tom barely nods, sucking the entire ring into his mouth and thrusting his tongue through it to lick the nipple in quick, repeated flicks.

"What do you want, Bill?" Tom rasps, pressing his wet needy mouth to Bill's throat and hauling their bellies together. 

Bill's going to unravel if they go at it like this much longer, frotting madly against each other over their clothes like they haven't done in years. He grinds his hips in urgent motions, the ones he makes when he's riding Tom's cock and really into it, barreling toward their climax. Tom groans and grabs his ass, rolls him over, making Bill splay back against the couch cushions and moan. Bill spreads his legs instantly so that Tom can get between them.

"Be sweet to me, in bed," Bill groans, and begins to pant faster as Tom pushes his legs apart, tugs his jeans and boxers far down enough to grasp him in one hand and run the fingers of the other down below Bill's balls, stroking with a shiver-light touch into the crease.

"Am I not?" Tom says, and bites his knee.

"You are, you really are," Bill says, banging his head against the armrest. "So do it now!"

"Want to get my dick in you so bad," Tom gasps, pushing against him, rubbing his jeans against Bill's thigh.

Bill's cock leaps. All he can do is rub himself back against Tom desperately, trying to twist in Tom's sure grip. "I need it," he says.

"We need a bed," Tom answers.

"I...unnh!...don't see why," Bill says, panting as Tom presses an exploring finger into him.

"You're so hot," Tom says suddenly, his eyes mostly closed but the dark points of his pupils are still fixed on Bill as he swipes around inside Bill with a dry finger. "So hot...right in here... You want me to be sweet to you in bed, so we need a bed."

The abrupt change of subject almost gives Bill whiplash. He's on his back and panting for it and Tom is telling him how hot he is, then suddenly they're discussing change of location again. "Oh my God, I don't care, Tom." He reaches out and feels around under Tom's shirt; finds his cock and squeezes it. "Whatever gets this inside me soonest."

"Okay," Tom says, and strains forward to kiss his mouth one more time but Bill can barely concentrate on that and his kiss in return is a little distracted. "Okay, pull your jeans off and I'll go find the lube."

"Okay!" Bill says excitedly. When Tom climbs off him, Bill starts to kick his jeans off, has trouble, and strips them down over his calves. He throws them and doesn't care where they end up. He gets rid of his boxers and his socks for good measure and by the time that's done Tom isn't back and covering him yet, so he decides to go find the bed after all.

There's a mirror across from one side of the bed, between two windows that Bill has kept shut and heavily draped during his stay. He gets on his hands and knees and faces it, because he wants to see himself, he wants to see the look on Tom's face when he enters Bill, and it's been a while since they've done it in this position until they both come.

Tom wanders into the bedroom and his expression is relieved and horny. He's lost his shirts and pants somewhere along the way and he's down to his boxers.

Bill's mouth opens and he tries to say something but all he can do is watch as Tom pushes his boxers down, slicks himself up, and climbs onto the bed behind him.

"Tom," he says at last, hoarsely, when the tip of his brother's dick is nudging hotly against his hole. It's all he can manage, but it's enough. He tilts his pelvis to lift his butt and keeps his eyes open, locking with Tom's as his brother grabs him and spreads him open and starts to push in nice and slow.

Tom groans, the sound deep and pleasure-wracked, as he eases the head inside. His face is a study in ecstasy; he's so into it, it's clearly already superb for him, making him sweat. Bill's trying to push back and get it further in, making Tom grab his hips to keep him still.

"Be good," Tom enjoins. "I want this to be good."

"It's always good," Bill moans, and he means it. Even when they're both wrecked or exhausted, when sometimes all they can manage is quick hand jobs or a lick and a promise of real sex later, it's better than anything because it's them.

"Better than good," Tom counters, his head already going back as he gives Bill more cock.

Bill bites his lip and grabs handfuls of coverlet, frustrated that Tom is holding him still while he pushes into his ass. He tests Tom's grip on him and finds it firm. Then he whimpers as he relaxes a tension he didn't even realize was there and all at once Tom is filling him to the brim and his eyes fly open and he's making a keening sort of noise, between excitement and pain.

"Okay?" Tom says anxiously, not sure how to interpret that, either.

"Move!" Bill orders.

Tom holds onto the bony little points of Bill's hipbones while he fucks into him hard. Bill moans and writhes on the bed, trying to angle Tom's cock inside of him, trying to get him to hit his spot with those ragged, almost painful strokes. Then they shift together just right and Tom hits it, and they slam together desperately. Bill keeps his eyes open and watches Tom watching him, and it's one of the sexiest things he's ever seen. It always is.

They go faster, approaching the brink like a train blowing off the tracks and Tom is mostly quiet as usual, head back and eyes slitting nearly closed. The occasional deeply satisfied groan escapes him. Bill is moaning his fool head off, gasping and panting and giving Tom vocal feedback on just how good he's fucking him, with the occasional 'more' and 'harder' and 'faster, your dick feels so amazing.'

Tom bends him over at a severe angle, folding himself over Bill as he reaches for Bill's hands where they're snared in the coverlet. Bill contorts his spine a little so that Tom can reach his hands and when they lock fingers Tom's giving him so much all he can say is 'yes, yes,' and they go from fast to slow like a switch has been flipped. Tom pumps into him from behind deep and slow, and Bill struggles to keep his head up and eyes on Tom. He watches Tom's tongue emerge, poke at his lip bolt. Tom mouths 'I love you' at Bill in the mirror.

Bill screams as he squeezes down and he can't help it; it's been a while since they've had to be quiet in a hotel and he hopes the "Do Not Disturb" sign will be enough to keep the prurient at bay. He comes with Tom's name on his lips and he's still pushing back, enjoying the aftershock of his orgasm as he watches Tom bend over his back even harder, disentangling their hands and hugging his waist with both arms. His mouth smears the sweat over Bill's back as he comes hard, grinding Bill into the coverlet with the last of his thrusts.

They collapse, and Tom tugs Bill onto his side.

"Don't let go yet," Bill says, holding onto Tom's arm, which is still around his waist.

"I'm not going to leave you," Tom says against his hair.

"Never, ever," Bill adds, and Tom huffs, pressing against him with his hips in a way that makes them both squirm, more uncomfortable than sensual but neither of them wants to lose that connection yet. Soon they'll have to get up, and shower, and put their faces on for the world again.

"I knew you couldn't live without me," Tom says with a grin in his voice, and Bill would smack him if it weren't so sweet.

"All right," Bill says it as though it's a royal concession, but he's gripping tight onto Tom's hand. "I suppose I'll spend the rest of my life with you."

"What's the catch?" Tom asks, because he is sweet sometimes but not stupid, and he knows Bill.

"You have to get that ring we talked about," Bill says, bringing Tom's hand to his face. "Down there." He draws a finger into his mouth to suck on.

Tom groans and bites the back of his neck where Bill's hair normally covers it, but he doesn't say no.

Bill nips Tom's finger and grins, secure now in the surety that he will prevail.

"Tom?" Bill prompts, right before they're ready to fall asleep or at least nap for a bit.

"Mmm."

"I love the way you're sweet to me."

The tightening of the arm around him is the only answer that Bill needs.


End file.
